


marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad

by for_within_the_hollow_crown



Series: drift back to me (I’ll do the same) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jemma Simmons (mentioned) - Freeform, Jemma Simmons/Will Daniels (mentioned), Will Daniels (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_within_the_hollow_crown/pseuds/for_within_the_hollow_crown
Summary: "Fitz, are you still there?""Yes, sorry," he replied, sitting down and leaning his back against the backrest of the chair, legs stretched out and hands still holding the telephone firmly."A telegram just arrived at The Sketch and," Daisy paused, the sound of static replacing her voice. "Will is dead."





	marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.

 

London 1918

 

He was already at the door, ready to call it a day and make his way home before getting ready to meet Bobbi for a drink later that night, when the phone started to ring insistently. With his hand on the doorknob, the metal smooth and cold under his skin, it took Fitz a couple of seconds to decide whether or not to step back, walk back to his desk and answer. He could have just as easily walked away and pretend he had not been in the office by the time the phone had started ringing; it was a matter of seconds, really, and had he not lingered at his desk a couple of minutes longer just to gather some documents to give his superior, he would have already been out in the cold October air and the telephone would have remained unanswered.

In the end, who was there to vouch for the truth? Who was there to say that he had not been in the office, or at least already far down the corridor, on his way to the second floor, and that by the time he had actually realized that the telephone on his desk was ringing and started to make his way back, the phone had not already stopped? No one, but the noise was piercing and insistent, like the cry of a banshee, and it filled the air in the small room, drilling into Fitz's head and certainly not making the approaching headache any better. Two choices lying in front of him, and the call could have been important or not - leaving a gamble he'd better not over think.

And yet, the idea of it being work related was enough to make him stay. Much like many others, Fitz lived his days sitting on the edge of his seat and holding his breath, the armistice was close and yet there was fear that it would be withdrawn and that, consequentially, the war would go on for who knew how long. It was a worst case scenario, but if there was something that they had all learned in the past four years, then it was that often things did not go as planned. Not in the least. Sure there were discussions about an armistice and the feeling that peace was just around the corner, but that didn't mean anything. In nineteen fourteen there had been discussions about the war being over before Christmas of the same year - a lightning war, a Blitzkrieg that had yet to end.

No, never such innocence again. And the knowledge of rumors that Ludendorff would declare the Allies' conditions unacceptable despite having, until a month before, declared that Germany had lost, made Fitz remove his hand from the doorknob and close the door again. Unwillingly, Fitz made his way back to his desk and picked up the phone before even sitting down in his chair.

Half expecting anything, he answered. "Leopold Fitz speaking."

"It's Daisy."

Daisy's voice, with her ever present American accent that still painted her speaking after all those years, came as a surprise. Of all people she was the last one he'd have imagined to hear on the other side of the line, and yet it was a relief to hear an old friend rather than someone from the office. But of all his friends... he wasn't even sure if he had ever given her his office number, not that he thought her incapable of digging it up on her own. Hunter, yes. Bobbi, yes, but then again she might have well just passed by. Daisy, no, never.

They hadn't really kept in contact after August of nineteen fourteen, their meetings drastically reduced in number now that they didn't share a life and had started to move in two different circles. At the beginning there had been an overall inability to find things to say, especially on his side, and their relationships had been something between cordiality and regular contact. Friendship, yes, the years spent together in Yorkshire carried weight and for the longest time they had turned to each other in need of help or advice, but not as all encompassing as it once had been. He had left, almost run away, and despite there not being any fingers pointed in accusations, they had both grown up into two different people.

"Fitz, are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry," he replied, sitting down and leaning his back against the backrest of the chair, legs stretched out and hands still holding the telephone firmly.

"A telegram just arrived at _The Sketch_ and," she paused, the sound of static replacing her voice. "Will is dead. He died, Fitz, and I- I'm not phoning out of malice, or because of everything that has happened years ago. That's history. But I have to tell Jemma, I have to look at her and tell her that one of the people she loves most in the world died. The words sounded unreal, I just wanted to see if I could speak them out loud."

Silence fell as the news settled in. It was an unwelcomed and unexpected revelation that left Fitz's mind blank and made him feel, as the words started to settle in, as if he was living in a dream - all muffled sounds and blurred edges. Will dead. No, it couldn't be, the words didn't sound right, they didn't sound like the truth. Not so close to the armistice, not to them. Unimaginable and incomprehensible pain, Fitz didn't even want to go there and if he could just pretend that he didn't care at all about Will's fate then maybe, perhaps, probably, the feeling of uneasiness would leave him at once.

He was aware that he should say something, condolences or any other words of circumstance that may or not sound empty to Daisy's ears, but the shock was too grate and his mind incapable of producing any sort of coherent thought.

"Bloody hell," he spoke at last.

"Bloody hell indeed. Four years in hell and then- we're close to the end, aren't we?" Daisy paused for a moment. "Listen, I have to go now. I just wanted to tell you, for the sake of the old times if anything. We should catch up one of these days, talk face to face."

"Sure, why not? And tell Jemma- No, don't tell her anything."

Because what was there to say after four years of complete silence? All there was, was the memory of that August afternoon - all contact after that day nonexistent, friendship vanished. For all they knew, or rather could suppose to know, feelings still laid where they had laid four years ago. And wouldn't that make him a hypocrite in Jemma's eyes? To say he was sorry, when him four years ago might have not been? But even if they all were the people of that afternoon, Will would still not be a stranger and his death would still be much more personal than the rest of them put together. But now, in all honesty, Fitz felt sad and quite sad indeed, the words to fully encompass his emotions and his feelings towards it apparently nonexistent.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too," replied Daisy and then hung up.

The uneasiness and emptiness were both surprising and Fitz just sat there in his chair staring into thin air. Out of time and space, that was how he felt, and how distant in time everything else appeared to be - his past and the immediate future in equal degree. Quite surprisingly he couldn't think of anything but Will and Jemma, and, despite the fact that the string of hypothesis that had once bound them all now seemed like an invasion of privacy and was impossible to recreate,  he tried to figure out even if for just a second how Will had died. The cause of death would probably not have been specified, only Jemma could ask for details (and knowing her if she wanted, she'd move heaven and earth to get answers) and Fitz just wished he had not suffered. And did it matter? Did it really matter how Will had died when the truth was but this: William Daniels died fifty years before his time, this close to peace, this close to getting home forever.

Fitz couldn't wrap his head around it, nor could he remain indifferent.

Four years ago he had hated them both, Will more than Jemma if he had to be honest. In fact, he had hated Will with such a passion and strength, jealousy - that green eyed monster in the pit of his stomach - added to the mix, that he had considered upon walking away from the garden party to start an argument with him for the mere sake of it. Let out some steam, cool of, get to know why, oh why, had Will spoken out loud and from which position.

Will had known about him and Jemma. Will had known about feelings lying elsewhere. Jemma had made both things clear enough. And he had not loved her at the time, they had been nothing more than good friends, yet he had still proceeded in asking Jemma for her hand. Why, when he could have just as easily shut up?

It had been unfair, not that his past self - so caught up in the moment - would have cared. He and Jemma had never been alone upon this world, and their actions and inaction both carried consequences and mixed up with obligations, society, other people, even their own families. And in hindsight, it wasn't Will who had been the problem, it had been them. All the heartbreak, regret and sorrow that had followed, had been their own doing. And wasn't it Jemma herself who had told Will not to call off the engagement despite having been asked more than once? And wasn't it his fault that she had done so for he had never really found the courage to speak up and admit that her dreams were his dreams too? His and Jemma's relationship had never been overshadowed by Will. His and Jemma's relationship had been overshadowed by their own personalities and pasts, history and fears, that had at the time stood in the way of compete clarity and had brought along confusion and misunderstandings.

Something linear and effortless had been transformed in interruptions studded with an overall inability to speak, and they had not noticed because she was in Oxford and he was in Yorkshire and the distance covered by letters had allowed them to pretend that things had not changed much at all. Even before August nineteen fourteen, he and Jemma had run towards inevitable heartbreak at light's speed.

Maybe, if time had stopped and they hadn't changed and grown into different people, if feelings that had once been felt with such a passion, were still there, then he wouldn't have felt as empty - emotions not quite balancing themselves out. Or maybe not because, as his mother had told him, a good heart kept its course truly no matter how ill he thought about someone at any moment in time. But time had not stopped and he had seen Jemma and Will from afar years later, and it was that scene that he liked to turn his thoughts to if and when his memory wondered back to the days gone by.

Piccadilly, less than two years earlier. Fitz had been out and about with Bobbi, something work related, and they had been on their way back to the office when he had caught the sight of Will and Jemma walking down the street on the other side of the road. Her hand in his, Jemma talking and Will looking at her in awe and with such love and fondness that Fitz had smiled to himself and felt relieved at the knowledge that they had not made each other miserable. And he had discovered, much to his own surprise, that seeing them together and knowing that they now had something, didn't hurt as much; in fact, it had not hurt at all. It could have been them, of course it could have been them, but things could also have turned in a worse way for all of them.

At the time, he had thought about crossing the street and say hello, no matter how much awkwardness it would have raised; but by the time he had made up his mind and had been about to tell Bobbi to wait for a moment, Will and Jemma had turned the corner - any chance of reconciliation or at least a possibility of a fresh start gone.

In the past two years Fitz had often regretted his lack of promptness in crossing the street. It might have been a turning point, something that could have run in any direction and out of their own control, but it would have been something no matter the outcome. That he and Jemma had scarified their friendship for nothing more than entitlement was a truth neither of them could escape from, and in many years since their downfall, if one could call it such, he had wished that they hadn't destroyed everything they had had. At the time, their friendship had been so effortless and all encompassing, breath taking and quickening, with every moment dragged on and on and this desire deep down for their time together not to come to an end. It was precious and came as a blessing, bringing along the need not to use words to communicate for it all went far beyond that.

Now, more than ever, Fitz wished that their friendship was still standing as strong as ever. Nay, he wished for it to exist, because there was the desire to stay close to Jemma and be there for her if his presence was indeed needed. Not to barge in, but in comfort - a stretched out hand, a shoulder to cry on, reassuring words - and that, he was sure, would have been enough. She had other people in her life now, like he had other people in his life, and yet they had been best friends once. They had been best friends in the world long before feelings and love had started to appear on the horizon; and having lost that, and not being able to be there for her in any way - not even finding words of circumstances that didn't sound empty - was equally a regret and a pity.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In late October 1918, Ludendorff declared the conditions of the Allies unacceptable and demanded for the war (which he himself had declared lost only a month earlier) to resume. German soldiers, however, were pressing to get home. It was scarcely possible to arouse their readiness for battle anew, and desertions were on the increase. The Imperial Government stayed on course and Ludendorff was replaced by Wilhelm Groener.
> 
> Comments are appreciated.


End file.
